Ghost Of Someone You Used To Know
by Chinesemoon
Summary: Percy visits his father in the hospital. During Ootp.


**Ghost of Someone You Used To Know**

By _Chinesemoon_

A/N: All I can say is, this is deep, or at least that's what I _hoped_ for. It was written a long time ago.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything; I am merely playing with it. Don't sue; I have a cat, and perhaps a Guinea Pig... that's all!

The halls of the wizarding hospital were deserted. The air, although inside of a building, felt chilly to him. He shuddered and pulled his dark gray cloak closer to his warm body. He tried hard not to let his feet make any sound on the floors. He didn't want someone to be asking questions. That's the last thing he needed tonight.

He looked down the hall, both ways. Merlin help him, he had no bloody idea which way to turn. His hood concealed part of his pale hazel eyes, making it necessary for him to tilt his head up to see better. His left hand clutched a piece of wrinkled parchment. Today, most certainly, was not his day.

Ignoring his ignorance on the subject, he tore down the hall in one direction, his feet padding softly. It better be the right way or he would scream. Maybe he'd find someone to scream at. He usually felt like screaming – but today? Today was a day he felt like hurting someone or perhaps even breaking some _glass_. Yes, he quite fancied the idea of breaking glass at that point. Wasn't that what his life had resorted to now? Screaming and breaking things?

His breath was uneven. He knew it and he didn't try to control it. His heart was beating loudly against his chest, and he rather felt like throwing up. His hand tightened over the wrinkling parchment, and he refused to admit his eyes were blurring with tears.

No, not tears. Not tears because _he_ didn't cry. Children cried,_ babies_ cried. _He_ didn't cry. Wasn't that right? No, he most certainly did not. It wasn't like he had never dealt with unpleasant situations before. It wasn't as if he never had to do something he didn't look forward to doing. He often confronted unpleasant jobs... but things he was afraid of…

He didn't get afraid, he told himself. He was above that. That was too low for someone like him. He didn't get scared and he certainly didn't sob. How pathetic would he be then?

The information desk was ahead. He almost felt better when he realized no one was there. He didn't need explanations about his whereabouts. Didn't the Ministry give him enough hell already? Why couldn't everyone leave him alone?

He set the parchment on the desktop and moved swiftly to the file cabinet. His wand was pulled from his inside pocket as he uttered the most effective unlocking spell he could remember in his cluttered and fogged mind. The file drawer opened, and his red, tired eyes stared down at it, almost fearfully.

Maybe this was all some kind of sick joke? Perhaps it was some trick, he thought desperately, searching the files. It must be a joke. Yes, that's it for sure.

He knew he was wrong, however, when his hand closed around the file he was looking for. There it was, like a curse that had come to haunt him. Why couldn't he wake up from this nightmare?

His eyes scanned the papers... down, lower and lower. Then he saw it. He could barely remember what room he was looking for, let alone what section. He was almost afraid he would forget it and have to come back and look it up again.

He grabbed the piece of wrinkled paper. He held it limply in his hand, the sweat from his palms almost soaking through the parchment. He let his feet drag slowly and deliberately across the floor. He pulled his hood down over his eyes again, fear of being recognized clogging his brain.

His hands traced along the walls as he went. He wondered where this black hole would end and if he'd get out alive. Why was he here? He kept asking himself that question. What couldn't he go home? He had to go on...

His hand shook as he pushed open the hospital ward door. It was dark inside, and he could hear snoring. He looked around, but no Mediwizards were standing by. He walked on over to the last bed.

It was an odd sensation, feeling his knees buckle under him. He'd never before in his life felt so empty inside. He wanted it to stop; he wanted to go back to being a bottomless pit like he'd been before.

He looked down in the bed. His knees hit the floor gently next to the bed. The man was sleeping, he could clearly see. He pulled his hood down from his face and frowned deeply.

Percy Weasley's hand shook worse than ever as he reached out to touch his father's head.

"Father," he whispered softly. "Why do you have to do this to us?"

Percy shook his head. His father slept on, not aware of his son leaning over him. It wasn't good enough for Percy to be remorseful, and when he got the owl from his mother informing him his father had been injured, he held back the urge to rush to his side at once. What would his family think? What would they say if he had done that? He knew he was no longer welcome in his family. He knew his brothers would just kick him out on his face. He knew they would only tell him how much they loathed him. He couldn't face that, not then.

Now he waited. Now he watched.

As his hand traced his father's brow, he frowned deeply, closing his eyes momentarily. He willed any kind of tears back. Crying... that was weak and pitiful. He wouldn't stoop that low. His father was fine... he would be fine. He always was. Nothing could stop Arthur Weasley. Nothing—

"Can't you see that you're wrong?" Percy whispered, withdrawing his hand. "Can't you see that Dad? Why can't you listen to me when I warn you of these things?"

His father moved slightly, and Percy carefully stood and backed away. He watched in a sort of mingled anticipation and relief as his father opened his eyes and squinted at him.

"Percy?" He said his voice odd and horse from his injury. "Percy, is that you?"

Percy stepped closer and looked down at his father. The fights and shouting all came back to him, clear as a bell, and stung more than just his pride. His mother's tears, his brothers' hateful words, and his sister's fearful looks, they now all danced angrily in front of his eyes.

"No," He whispered to his father. "No, Father. You're dreaming. I'm not your son."

Mr. Weasley closed his eyes and rested his head back into the pillow, as if he had fallen back into that state unconsciousness he had just shortly awoken from.

Percy leaned closer, his heart thumping painfully against his chest. He laid his hand over his father's sweaty forehead and took a deep breath. He pulled his cloak closer to him, pulling up his hood, and covering most of his face. His pale hazel eyes looked down.

"I'm not here," Percy said softly. "I'm only a ghost—"

Mr. Weasley remained still.

"I'm the Ghost of someone you used to know." Percy said.

He turned, his dark cloak swishing behind him, as he left the room.

FINIS


End file.
